A/N: this time, it wasn't my fault. Honest. This site was down again, not letting me upload this chapter much less post it. So I decided to do a little rewriting, since I had the time. And then—right after I take apart the second half of the chapter—it comes back online. Of course, family drama happened before I could finish my rewrite, so it took even longer…

I'm very sorry. Please forgive me. D':

Chapter Fifteen: Out of the Frying Pan…

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes…

…was the ribcage of a fish.

At least, it looked like a fish. Sort of. There was one long, bone-white line in the center, like a spine, and three or four lines curving away from it, like the ribs of a fish. It hovered over her, curious, making small movements like it was trying to figure out if she was animal, vegetable, or mineral—a novelty or a threat. She watched it for a while, bemused, wondering why it didn't grow afraid of her and swim away. After all, she was an invader into its world, a large, clumsy land-dweller that had somehow found her way into the sea.

No, her brow scrunched slightly, that couldn't be right. She couldn't be in the sea because she was breathing, and a person can't breath underwater. Wanting to make sure, she inhaled. There was a little heaviness across her chest, like a very large, wet blanket was draped over her. But she was definitely able to put air into her lungs.

Well, she continued to reason while the fish continued to hover, if she was breathing, she couldn't be under water. She must be on land. That meant that the fish was… what? Floating above her? Flying through the air? Like a bird? That didn't make sense, either. A fish had to be in the water in order to live. And the fish above her was very much alive, its movements careful and deliberate and smooth. If it was out of water, it's movements would be chaotic and panicky. Therefore, somehow, both of the following statements had to be true:

The fish was calm; it had to be in water.

She was calm; she had to be in air.

The solution hit her so suddenly, she spoke it out loud. "I've been swallowed by a fish."

It made perfect sense, how both she and the fish could breathe. It must have somehow swallowed her, and she was seeing its ribs from the inside, trapped in its stomach with a pocket of air.

"What was that?"

The voice was male, dark, hoarse, as if he had spent years on end screaming; and it had gotten to the point where his vocal chords were ruined, rough, and gritty. She blinked, slowly, her eyes having a little trouble focusing when she reopened them. The fish's ribcage was gone, but in it's place was a face, dull green eyes hidden beneath ebony brows, angular cheekbones pointing towards a pair of brooding lips, two white lines falling like a ghostly goatee down his chin. She swallowed and hoped her voice didn't sound as rough as his.

"'lo, Fenris. D'choo get swall't, too?"

She watched his face loom closer, the black brows draw downwards, those lifeless green eyes flickering back and forth as he looked into hers. "Hrodwynn, can you hear me?" He spoke slowly, carefully, as if he was trying to explain the mechanism of a very complex lock.

"Yes," she nodded, amazingly calm considering their current predicament, "Even inside the fish."

He looked like he didn't believe her, his eyes widening as he finally understood what she was saying. "You think we're inside a…" his voice trailed away. Carefully he leaned back, taking his time to look around them, but there was nothing that met his eyes that even remotely resembled a fish—fin or scales. After a moment he shook his head, worry dispelling the shock on his features. "Hrodwynn? Hrodwynn, look at me. Do you remember what happened?"

He watched, his heart in his throat, as she closed her eyes again. His fingers reached down to touch her face, to brush the dark red strands of hair out of her eyes, off of her cheeks, smearing her blood from his fingers onto her gray skin. He waited in agony, fearing those lively emerald eyes had closed and would never open again. But she did open them, gave another slow blink, and struggled to speak, her words slurred and airy. "No, I don' 'member the fish. Or water. How'd'we get 'ere?"

Delirium, he thought to himself. She must have already lost too much blood. Or maybe the knife the Coterie thug used had been poisoned. Or maybe she was hurt somewhere else, like the nail that had broken her skin had left behind a wound that had gotten infected while she had been in the sewers…

He mentally slapped himself, breaking off the string of ever increasingly implausible scenarios. Whatever the reason, every second they spent here was a gamble. He needed to get her to Anders, but he had also needed to slow the blood loss. He hoped he struck the right balance, taking enough time to secure a bandage around her chest, without taking so long that he wouldn't be able to get her to the clinic before…

Again he pushed the dark thoughts aside and focused on her, cupping her face in hands that were sticky and wet with her blood. "Hrodwynn, listen very carefully. You've been hurt. Do you remember that? The knife?" Seeing the confusion on her face, he decided it didn't matter. "Never mind. I'm going to carry you to Anders. I'll have to lift you up, and it's going to hurt."

"…hurt?"

"I'm sorry, Hrodwynn. I can't help it," he swallowed, praying his words didn't sound too hollow. He knew he had been deliberately hurting her feelings as of late, so it might not be hard for her to think he would make the jump to physical abuse. Yet he couldn't let her think that poorly of him. He stared deeply into her eyes and willed her to understand. "Believe me, I don't want to hurt you, but the sooner we get to Anders, the sooner you'll be better."

"…Anders…"

"That's right," he tried to sound encouraging, but he'd seen deep wounds like this before, and there was so much blood. "I'm taking you to Anders. Try to stay awake. Talk to me. Tell me what it is the Coterie wants with you." He slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her shoulders, and stood up.

"Coterie… aargh!" She'd barely gotten the word out before agony burst from her side, spreading through her whole body. She hadn't felt it before, her body numb with shock, but she sure as the Void felt it now, thanks to Fenris lifting her up. The edges of the wound rubbing together and then pulling apart, the tightness of some sort of binding around her chest, the fullness in her lungs making them feel stuffy and keeping her from getting a full breath, the tugging and tearing in her shoulder as her arm swung loosely from its socket, the dampness on her clothing cooling before the wind of their passage. Every step he took—every jarring impact of his running footsteps—renewed the cycle of pain.

Yet the pain brought back memory, clarity, something she wished she didn't have, the scenario playing out before her glazed eyes. Fenris glowing bluish-white with his fist in another man's chest. Jaxon holding a knife to her throat, the edge abrading her skin. Her voice shaking with fear as she ordered Fenris to stop. The knife piercing her side, sliding in easily and deep between her ribs. The heat of Jaxon's hand and the cold of the knife hilt pressing against her skin. The slick sound as it withdrew, still without any pain, any feeling. The warm wetness—her blood—soaking her shirt and the waistband of her leggings. Jaxon shoving her towards the trapdoor, still open.

But something had stopped her. Someone had kept her from falling. Had it been… Fenris…?

"Talk to me," he panted, saving most of his breath for running. His chest reverberated with his growl, his fingers tightening their grip, and she wondered irrelevantly what he'd done with his gauntlets.

"Where are your gloves?"

"I, ah, have them secure. Hrodwynn, you're supposed to be telling me what the Coterie wants with you." His voice was harsh, commanding, giving her orders and expecting her unquestionable obedience.

"The Coterie," she whimpered as they turned a corner, the change in momentum pushing against her wound. When she spoke again, her voice was choked with sobs, either from her fear or the pain or a little of both. "No, please, I can't, I can't tell anyone, he'll know, he knows everything, it's not just me, he'll kill Felinus."

"Your… cat?" he asked, remembering how he had helped her name her kitten years ago. "Why would he threaten your cat?"

"Because Hawke doesn't care…"

It was a breathy moan, a weak sort of sound, accompanied by a light gurgling at the back of her throat. He'd seen plenty of injuries like hers, had caused a few of them himself, and he easily read the signs. She was nearly out of time.

And he was nearly at the clinic. "Stay awake, Hrodwynn, we're almost there. Do you hear me? I… I can see the lantern…" He glanced down at her gray face and glassy eyes and felt his heart drop into his racing feet. "Please, Hrodwynn, stay with me. Stay awake, Wynnie, please…"

"Don't call me that…" she whined, her brows wrinkling with irritation, the gurgling growing louder as her voice grew fainter. "He called me that…"

"Carver," he supplied, hating himself for bringing up the painful, death-related memory. Right then she needed to focus on living, not dying. "Yes, I'd… I'd forgotten."

"No…" she all but sighed, her voice barely able to be heard over the pounding of his feet on the pavement, the pounding of his blood in his ears, "Brekker…" Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head.

He glanced down just in time to see her pass out. He didn't waste any breath cursing, thinking only of how tragic it would be, if she died in his arms, only steps away from healing.


"This isn't like her, Garret," Anders whined, rubbing at the stubble on his cheeks. "She usually makes it home on her own without incident. I don't know why she didn't last night."

Hawke reached out and settled his hand on the back of Anders' neck. They had spent most of the morning in bed, at first surprised that Hrodwynn had left them alone for so long, then concerned when morning turned to afternoon and she still had yet to interrupt their amusements. After finding her loft empty, Anders had quickly grown concerned. "Well, let's think this through. We were all together at the Hanged Man last night, until you and I left early…"

"I know that!"

"Right," he agreed, trying to keep his voice calm. "And Hrodwynn had been drinking, quite a bit during the short time we were there."

"Oh, Maker," Anders groaned, shaking off his touch and pacing away. Yet the physical activity did him no good; he couldn't outrun his guilt. And he did feel guilty for his selfish actions last night, for skipping out early with Hawke just so they could find some privacy. He knew he shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have left Hrodwynn alone at the tavern. But what hurt the most was that Hawke seemed to know it, too. "You mean, maybe she got pissed, too pissed to find her way home. Or, or, or maybe, she was on her way home, but she was too tight to pay attention, and got herself rolled by thieves, or…"

"I don't mean that!" Hawke quickly stepped in. He grabbed Anders by the shoulders and turned him back around, his heart breaking when he saw the guilt in his eyes. "I don't mean that at all. Listen to me. Varric was there, too, remember? And Isabela. They've never let Merril walk home when she gets too deep in her cups. I'm sure they kept an eye on Hrodwynn and didn't let her leave last night." When Anders looked timidly hopeful, replacing the self-inflicted guilt, he relaxed, just a little. "She's probably still there, with the deadliest hangover she's every experienced, trying to sleep it off in one of their rooms."

"I…" Anders took a shaky breath, "I suppose you're right."

"I always am," he replied with confidence. "You'll see. She'll come walking through that door any minute now, looking properly embarrassed over getting shit-faced, apologizing for keeping us waiting for so long…"

There was a sound at the door, and he broke his words off suddenly. Hope rising in his chest, as much for Hrodwynn's sake as Anders', he turned to see who was there.

"Morning, fellas," Varric said drolly as he strolled into the clinic, "Or should I say, afternoon? Not interrupting anything, am I?"

His voice was too hopeful, his face too cheery, for Anders' liking. He ignored the dwarf and peered over his shoulder, but the doorway was empty. The next moment, Varric shut it with the heel of his boot, confirming that he was alone. Anders turned away, too downtrodden to speak.

Hawke took it upon himself to answer. "Ah, no, Varric, we are still waiting for Hrodwynn. She isn't with you, I take it?"

Varric's face grew concerned, and he adjusted his gloves to hide his apprehension. "No, ah, I sent her here hours ago. You haven't seen her? What about Fenris? Any word from him?"

"Why would Fenris come here?" Anders demanded, bearing down on him.

"He was following Hrodwynn…"

"That moral-less slave is with her…!"

"Anders," Hawke took hold of his shoulder, turning him partly away from Varric. "Calm down for a moment. It won't do us any good, talking over each other. Give him a chance to explain and tell us what happened. Alright?"

Anders' nostrils flared, but he kept his mouth shut. He gave a curt nod, and turned back to Varric.

"Well, let's see, where should I start? Ah, I suppose you know, Hrodwynn had been acting funny all evening, like something was wrong, seriously wrong. She ended up getting plastered. Had I realized that she could get blind drunk so quickly, I would've stopped her sooner."

"What could have been wrong?" Anders broke in again. "She couldn't be upset about us, could she? Oh, right, must've been the news from Aveline, that she hadn't found out anything about her past."

"Stop interrupting," Hawke murmured to him, noticing the dark look on Varric's face. He squeezed Anders' shoulder for good measure, deciding to leave his hand there for comfort as well as to remind him to keep quiet.

"Thanks, Hawke. Where was I? Right, Hrodwynn was too drunk to make it home last night, so I let her sleep it off in my bed. I slept on the chair," he added, holding out his hands peacefully, trying to placate Anders before he started shouting again; Hrodwynn was always a touchy subject where Anders was concerned. "Anyway, she woke up this morning, hungover, so I gave her one of those potions you mix up for Isabela. Then we sat and talked for a while. I tried to get her to share with me what was wrong. She said she couldn't talk about it, she honestly could not talk about it. Which can only mean one thing," he paused and looked at Hawke squarely in the eye, "Coterie."

"The Coterie?" This time Hawke interrupted, and Anders elbowed him to keep quiet.

"Right. I don't know what they want her to do; like I said, she couldn't tell me what it was, other than mumbling something about how it was impossible. Her own words. So I told her, if there was anyone crazy enough to stand against the Coterie here in Kirkwall, it was you, Hawke."

"Quite," hummed Anders with a little pride.

"And, since she was supposed to meet you here, anyway, I convinced her to tell you what was happening. Or at least, I thought I did. She should have been here hours ago, but she ran out of the Hanged Man so quickly…"

"Why did she do that?"

"Oh, ah, just upset," Varric hedged, trying not to remember the shocked and pained expression on her face when they saw Fenris and Isabela snogging in the hallway, "Over all her troubles, you know. Fenris was there, too, so I asked if he could follow her. I would've done so, but I wanted to touch base with my own contacts, see what I could shake loose on the Coterie. Anyway, Fenris left to make sure she stayed out of trouble and got here in once piece."

"But neither one of them are here," Hawke surmised, his eyes narrowing, his mind eager to work through the problem. "Did you see any sign of them this morning?"

Varric shook his head. "Nope. Spent most of the time running all over Lowtown and Hightown, trying to figure out what the Coterie could be planning that would involve Hrodwynn."

"Did you come up with anything? It might explain where she is right now."

"Other than something to do with a Siggerdson, maybe," Varric opined with a shrug, "She's currently the only rogue in Kirkwall who can crack one. But that's just a guess. No one's heard anything lately, but they're gonna keep their ears open. Hopefully, something will…"

His words were drowned out when the door to the clinic was kicked open with the force of a hurricane. All three heads turned to see who had intruded upon them, each one expecting trouble. Hawke's hand found his staff, Varric's hands had Bianca halfway drawn, and Anders' hands were overflowing with magic.

"Fuck!" breathed Hawke, his eyes practically bulging from his face. There stood Fenris, carefully lowering his leg as the door bounced back from the wall, his face grim and determined. Hrodwynn lay in his arms, her body limp, one arm dangling lifelessly at an odd angle, her head lax and bobbling as he started forwards. He ignored their little group and made for the table Anders used to examine his patients. Again the other three moved as one, making to meet them at the table. Hawke could see more details as they all came together: the grayness of her blood-streaked face, their soaked clothing, his belt cinched tightly around her chest.

"Andraste's woolen knickers!" Anders was the first to break from the spell, his voice harsh and accusing, like his words. "What did you do to her!?"

"Nothing," Fenris growled, low and dangerous. "It wasn't me; it was the Coterie. Now, are you going to stand here yelling at me? Or are you going to save her!"

Anders looked for a moment like he would be perfectly content to stand there and argue with Fenris… but not at the cost of Hrodwynn's life. He elbowed the elf out of the way a lot harder than necessary and started examining her injuries. Fenris was stressed from worry and exhausted from his race to the clinic, the shove knocking him off-balance and making him stagger. His eyes narrowed and his top lip curled as he stared at the back of Anders' head. He seemed on the verge of shoving back even harder, out of pure and selfish spite, but Varric's hand on his chest brought him to his senses.

"What happened?" Varric's voice was soft as he asked the question, not wishing to distract Anders from his work, but knowing they all wanted to hear how things had gotten so fucked up so quickly. Fenris didn't look at him, didn't take his eyes from Hrodwynn, desperate for the slightest tremor of a pulse at her neck, or the gentle lifting of her chest with a breath. She was too damn still!

"Fenris…" Hawke prompted, coming back from closing the main door.

"I followed Hrodwynn this morning, when she left the Hanged Man," he started, pausing to wince when Anders manipulated her shoulder. "Varric was worried that she might be in some sort of trouble with the Coterie, so I agreed to see to it that she got here. I didn't want her to know I was following her, so I didn't get too close. Unfortunately, that allowed for four Coterie thugs to grab her before I could stop them."

Anders lifted her shirt out of the way, exposing the knife wound. He swallowed and took up his narration. "I tracked them to a warehouse at an abandoned wharf, and through a trapdoor into the sewers. I couldn't follow them any further, so I waited for them to return. When they did, I attacked, intending to free her. One of them held a knife to her throat and forced her to tell me to back off. After his men got away, he stabbed her and shoved her towards the trapdoor. I could either chase them, or save her."

They were quiet for a moment, watching Anders mutter to himself, concentrating as he held his hands over her still form, building a spell.

"You did the right thing."

Hawke's words were almost muffled by the sound of Anders spell, like a sudden gust of wind tearing through heavy drapes. Her body jerked on the table, but other than that there was no sign that anything had happened. Fenris shook off Hawke's comforting hand and peered around Anders to see the wound in her side. The sight made his heart sink, but a moment later Anders took a rag to it, wiping away the red to show freshly healed skin beneath, with only the faintest pucker of a little pink scar.

Fenris felt his knees want to grow weak, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave, but he fortified his stance with a steel resolve. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to show weakness in front of that Abomination.

Anders, thankfully, missed Fenris' reaction, his attention on Hrodwynn. He finished wiping away what blood he could, all the while making sure there were no other wounds. Hrodwynn's stillness concerned him, prompting him to ask, "How long ago was she stabbed?"

"A quarter of an hour," Fenris answered, "Maybe a few minutes longer, but definitely less than half an hour. I took just enough time to secure a bandage around the wound before I brought her here. I… The knife, I think it might have been poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Hawke sounded alarmed.

"She wasn't poisoned," Anders replied confidently. "She's weak from blood loss, but she hasn't been poisoned; I would have noticed that." He paused to pierce Fenris with a cold gaze. "What makes you think she was poisoned?"

"Well, she was… delirious… or something." He gestured vaguely with one hand towards her. "She was awake earlier, and talking, and at one point, she thought she had been swallowed by a fish."

Varric stared at the elf for a count of three before he burst out laughing. The other men stared at him incredulously while he struggled to regain control of himself. "Sorry, sorry," he panted, one hand on the stitch forming in his side, the other reaching to steady himself on the table near Hrodwynn's feet. "Ah, let me guess: you were leaning over her at the time."

"I…" Fenris thought about it, how he had been leaning across her, buckling his belt on the far side away from her wound, "Yes… how did you…?"

Varric was laughing again, however, and unable to answer right away.

"What has gotten into you?" Hawke demanded, while Anders turned back to Hrodwynn.

"Sorry," he repeated, finally stifling his guffaws, "But after this morning, I needed something to ease the tension." He cleared his throat, noticed the dark looks, and decided to explain. "I suppose I'm the only one who's noticed it, thanks to my stature, but if elves needed to shave, you'd know what I was talking about," he pointed at Fenris. "The marks on your throat, from below, they kinda do look like a spine and ribcage. Never thought of them as a fish, though, not enough ribs, but I can definitely see where she got that impression."

Anders smirked, just a little cruelly, keeping his back to the others. A laugh at Fenris' expense was an occasion to be savored.

Hrodwynn took the next moment to come around, opening her eyes, blinking while she tried to clear her vision and focus on what was around her. He forgot about Fenris and leaned forwards, filling her view with his face, trying to reassure her. "Wynnie? Don't be alarmed; everything's alright now. You're safe."

She gave a little moan. Her ears were ringing, her chest was tight, her head was pounding—but someone was talking, holding on to her, keeping her from falling back into that peaceful black void. She grimaced and tried again to focus her eyes. There was a face in front of her, but with her brain so fuzzy and light, she was unable to register just who she was seeing or what they were saying. A couple of words, however, managed to make it through. "…Wynnie… alarm… safe…." Brekker had taken to calling her Wynnie, taunting her with his intimate knowledge of her life. It must be Brekker talking; he said he had another job for her, something he'd talk with her about later. She supposed it could have something to do with an alarm and a safe. She struggled to sit up, but hands were holding her down. "Safe? You want me to crack a safe?"

"Er, no," Anders said, wondering what she could be thinking. He decided to try again, slower this time. He tilted his face so it was more in line with hers and asked, "Wynnie, look at me; do you know who I am?"

She made some sort of non-committal sound, still trying to move the hands off her shoulders, her brow furrowed with irritation. She hated that nickname on Brekker's lips. "…don't…" she moaned, her eyes going cross before she could force them to focus. The next moment the lines on her face eased. She recognized the fur-trimmed coat, the strawberry-blond hair, the soft and gentle features of… "Anders?"

"That's my girl," he smiled, still gripping her shoulders. She returned his grip, however feebly, and gave him a brave little smile. He was encouraged by her response, and offered, "Here, let's see if you can sit up." His strong hands lifted her weight effortlessly, supporting her when she wobbled and threatened to faint again. "That's it, take it easy, lean on me, catch your breath."

Varric noticed the little start forward Fenris gave when she nearly collapsed in Anders' arms. He continued to watch the elf, saw the intensity in his stare as he noticed every detail of her condition, the clenching of his fists as he tried not to reach out for her. Varric looked past him to see Hawke had been watching, too. He raised his eyebrow, Hawke answered in kind, and he rolled his eyes. Fucking stupid elf…

"What…" she croaked, paused to clear her throat, and tried again. "What happened?"

"You were stabbed in the chest," Anders answered. "Do you remember?"

"Stabbed?" she lifted dark green eyes, wide with shock, up to his face. Her voice was timid, weak, like the mewl of a lost kitten. "I… I don't… no, wait…" Her gaze fell away with her words. Memory was returning to her in a rush, like a solid wall of marble, overwhelming her and threatening to crush her, the images and voices superimposing, becoming jumbled, mixed up, confused. She took a deep breath, to try to steady herself and clear her head, and felt a tightness in her chest. She coughed, a purely reflexive action, and the tightness moved upwards. "Shit…" she managed to breath before it happened.

The combination of moving and speaking and remembering broke loose something inside her lungs. She started coughing, her whole body spasming with the effort, and Anders pushed her head down between her knees. She weakly gripped the edges of the table, Anders slapping her back encouragingly while she tried to bring something up out of her lungs that felt like her spleen. It was thick and mucous-like, making it painful to breath, almost choking her as it worked its way through her chest, past her throat, and at long last out of her mouth.

"That's it, Wynnie, get it out," Anders cooed, rubbing her back now that the worst was over. "Can you take a deep breath for me? Good girl."

Very slowly, wary of every little hiccough or clearing of her throat, Anders helped her sit back up again. Her hand was shaky as she brought it across her lips, wiping away the last of the gore. She didn't look at it, but when she wiped her hand on her leggings, she felt the sticky dampness there. She glanced down, realized her side and back were almost entirely soaked, the fabrics of her tunic and leggings starting to stiffen as it started to dry. "Maker, but I'm a mess."

Anders gave an airy sort of chuckle at that, relieved to hear something normal from her. He knew now that she would recover, she only needed time and rest. "Hawke, could you hold on to her? I want to fix her something that will help."

"Of course," Hawke answered, not entirely enthusiastic about putting his hands on a girl, much less one half-covered in gore, but for Anders, he'd do just about anything. He came up, hesitated a moment after Anders let go, but when Hrodwynn wobbled his hands were there to steady her.

"Hawke?" she repeated, hating how timid and weak her voice sounded. "You're here?"

"And Varric. And Fenris. You're safe, now, Hrodwynn, just take it easy."

She had started struggling out of his grip as soon as he answered her, but was too weak to push him away. "No," she gave a low, bleating moan, "I have to get out of here. I'm not safe; none of us are. I have to get out of here. Brekker, he…" she bit off her words, the habit of not speaking about the Coterie was too ingrained.

"Who's this Brekker?" Hawke asked. "Was he your boss in the Coterie."

Hrodwynn felt trapped, trapped by her past, trapped by her friends. Yet she had told herself she was going to fight, she was going to get Hawke's help—or at least let him know he was being targeted. She wasn't convinced it could do her any good, but it was the only way to keep her friends, like Anders, safe. "Yes," she nodded, lifting eyes bright with tears up to Hawke's concerned face. "He… Maker… he's gonna kill me… or Felinus for this…"

"Felinus?" Hawke asked.

"Her cat."

Both Anders and Fenris answered quickly, automatically, both trying to spare Hrodwynn as much pain and trouble as possible. Anders shot him a cold stare as he strolled past, bringing a small cup back to her. "Here, Wynnie, drink this; it'll help."

She accepted the cup, his hands remaining behind to steady hers, and took a healthy swallow. Immediately she gasped and started coughing. Hawke danced backwards, leaving Anders alone to hold her, fearing she was going to be sick again. Though she choked and sputtered, she managed to keep the liquid down. "I thought…" she had to pause to clear her throat and swallow before she could make her words understandable, "I thought it was a potion of some sort."

"Nope," answered Anders, unconcerned over her reaction and even sounding a bit chipper, "I didn't have the time to fix a potion. This is aged Antivan Brandy. It'll do just as good, put some color in your cheeks and some vigor in your step. Drink up, Wynnie, but take it slower. This is the good stuff," he leaned in close to whisper, "A gift from Garret. Wouldn't want to waste it, you know, by spitting it up again."

"Oh, no," she deadpanned back at him, "We wouldn't want that." Timidly she took another sip, grimaced as the strong alcohol burned her throat on the way down to hit a nearly empty stomach. She felt her guts clench, but she managed to keep from coughing or sicking up the expensive brandy.

"Do you, er," Varric started, "Think you could tell us now what's going on? We know what happened after Fenris showed up, the stabbing and all the others getting away…"

"Fenris!" she scoffed, anger flaring up in her, "You git! I had everything smoothed over with Brekker! They were letting me go. Then YOU came along and… and mucked up the whole… works…!"

She had hopped off the table, her eyes zeroing in on Fenris' form, a long tirade on her lips. At least, she had intended to go up to him and give him a royal ass chewing, but gaining her feet proved too much for her. She teetered, her knees buckled, and the floor came swooshing up awfully fast.

Anders caught the girl, Hawke caught the brandy.

"Um, perhaps you shouldn't try that, yet," Anders suggested. "You're healed, but you did lose a lot of blood. You'll need rest and a couple of good meals before you're back to your old, spunky self."

She made some sort of noise, but he couldn't tell whether or not she was agreeing with him.

"Let's get her to the stool."

Hawke did not look at all like he wanted to help lift her to her feet, or carry her halfway across the room. Before his hesitation could be noted, however, Fenris came forward and took his place. Anders glared at him, he glared back, but their mutual concern for Hrodwynn overrode their intense dislike for each other. In a rare occurrence of cooperation, they lifted her from the floor and settled her onto a stool.

"I know you've been through a lot, Button," Varric's voice was calm and reassuring, "But you were about to tell us what's going on."

Anders had remained at her side, taking the cup from Hawke to give back to her. She nodded at Varric's question, took a fortifying sip, and began, "Right. I guess it started yesterday. I was coming back from talking with Aveline. I was, um, kinda upset… preoccupied… because there was nothing in the records even remotely referring to me."

"Entirely understandable," Anders needlessly defended her mental state. Hawke gave him a slight shake of the head, signaling him to keep quiet and let her talk.

"I, ah, was walking back here, when Jaxon and his men picked me up."

"Jaxon?"

"The one who stabbed me…" her voice trailed away, her expression changing as memory sorted itself out. "The mother-f…!"

"Language," Anders drowned out her expletive.

"Brekker told him to let me go," she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "But Jaxon stabbed me. He tried to kill me!"

"He gambled," Fenris stated calmly. She lifted glittering, hard green eyes up to where he was still standing beside her, one hand extended slightly towards her but leaning against a convenient table. "After he stabbed you, he threw you in one direction while he ran off in the other. He thought I would rather save your life, than end his. He was right."

She blinked at him, eyelids briefly blocking those lively emeralds from view. It was a ridiculous thought, Fenris wanting to save her life. After three years of verbal abuse, degrading criticisms, cold shoulders and outright avoidance, it was more than clear that Fenris hated her. He shouldn't care if she lived or died. He shouldn't even save her for Anders sake; she knew they hated each other. Yet he had saved her, had taken the time to make sure she wouldn't bleed to death and carried her to where she could get help. He hadn't even considered going after Jaxon or his men. Could he…?

"You were getting ahead of yourself," Varric broke into her thoughts, sending them scattering away like marbles across the floor.

"What?" she hummed up at him, turing dazed eyes in his direction. "Oh. Right. Jaxon." She quickly and willingly left that awkward train of thought and returned to her narration. "He picked me up yesterday, took me to Brekker, my old boss in the Coterie. Brekker said, well, he claimed I still owed him, that I never finished the one job he had hired me for, three years ago."

"What job was this?" Hawke asked.

"The Siggerdson. At the Harbor Master's Office. I broke into it, like I was supposed to, but, well," she glanced off to the side. Fenris studied her closely, as he had been ever since the stabbing, and saw the slight tinge of pink on her cheeks. It was encouraging, after all the blood she lost, if she could still blush, even a little. He relaxed, minimally, reassured at last that she was on the road to recovery.

He hated to see her hurt.

"I was only supposed to open the safe, then leave and let some guard they'd paid off almost catch me. The owners of the safe would think that the area wasn't secure, and move the contents of the safe to a different location—one that Brekker already had covered. But I took too long, and rifled some of the papers, so the wrong guard almost caught me, and the owners had to take three days to make sure nothing was stolen before they moved the contents. The extra three days meant that Brekker lost his window of opportunity. So, technically, I guess Brekker is right, I didn't do the job he hired me for, so I still owe him."

"You don't owe him anything," Varric affirmed. "You never got paid for your part, did you? Then he has nothing over you."

She laughed, weak and bitter. "It's the Coterie, Varric. Once they get their claws into you…" She took a sip of the brandy, a little larger one this time, and was able to handle the strong alcohol with only half a choke. "I know, I know, I never should have gotten involved with them in the first place, but I was young and stupid and wanted to prove myself and…" she broke off, biting her lip to silence her self-criticism.

Varric and Hawke exchanged a look; she was still young and wanting to prove herself. "Alright," Hawke sighed, deciding not to berate her for something she did years ago, "Let's get back on track. Your old Coterie boss, Brekker, wanted you to do another job for him. What was it?"

She groaned, a sound so full of despair and angst that all four men moved in closer. She said something, soft and eerily melodic beneath the groan, that made Hawke's eyebrow rise up halfway to his hairline. "Er, could you repeat that?"

"He wanted me to seduce you!" she obliged, the embarrassment lending strength to her voice and stature. "Brekker wants a way inside your mansion—he knew you had the deed to the place before you told me yesterday. He wanted me to become your mistress, so I could have access to your estate, maybe even live with you."

Hawke was silent for a count of three before he prompted her, "And you said…"

"I didn't say anything," she waved her fingers in an undetermined direction, "Not about, um, THAT," she stressed the last word, as if the extra emphasis held more meaning that she couldn't bring herself to say. "I mean, sure, I said I didn't want to do it, and asked what would happen if I couldn't, and, ah, Brekker said I had better do it, that I loved your brother so of course I could love you…"

The tint darkened a little on her cheeks, settling into a delicate pink rose.

"…that it wasn't that uncommon, and shit like that. I, well, I knew I couldn't do it, even if I wanted to, no offense," she added quickly.

"None taken," he allowed just as quickly.

"But it was impossible. And then he… Brekker… he threatened… he threatened to hurt Anders if I didn't cooperate… or Merril… or Leandra…"

"My mother?!" Hawke sounded offended. He knelt before her, all but pushing Anders out of the way as he took hold of Hrodwynn's shoulders. "Where can I find this… Brekker?"

She shuddered beneath the sound of cold anger in his voice. She couldn't look at him, staring at the corner of his lapel, telling herself she was shivering because she was cold, because she had lost so much blood, not because she was scared. "I don't know." She heard the sound of disbelief he made, and risked a glance at his face. His normally handsome features were subtly different, a step beyond normal as if he wore a mask, a calm that ran deeper than any rage. She trembled again, but was unable to look away. "I really don't. Every time I've met with him, it's been in a different place, an alley or an abandoned shop or someplace else that's private. And Jaxon always finds me and brings me to him."

"Makes sense, Hawke," Varric added. "It's not like the Coterie has a permanent address or keeps regular business hours. Brekker could be anywhere in Kirkwall, at any time, for all we know."

Hawke didn't answer right away, his nostrils flaring beneath the force of his breath as he knelt there and considered. Hrodwynn bore the brunt of his gaze, but he wasn't looking at her, his amber eyes alight with a fire while he shuffled and sorted through his own thoughts. Maker, what he wouldn't give to have Brekker's throat between his hands at that very moment…

He let her go before he strangled her by default, stalking away across the room. Anders stood and called out to him, but Hawke didn't hear. He was angry. No, he was pissed. Leandra was a gentle soul, a dear woman, and his mother. Something bumped his hip, and at last finding something at which he could vent his spleen, he grabbed the edge of the examining table and flipped it through the air.

Anders quickly went to him, muttering softly so only he could hear as Anders—carefully—put his hand on Hawke's shoulder. Hrodwynn didn't pay them any attention, too deep into her own misery and frustration and embarrassment to care what Hawke was going through, only thankful it wasn't directed at her. She tried to take a sip of the brandy, but her hand was still shaking. Then another hand was there, pale skin and paler markings, steadying her hand and helping her to sip. Fenris' flesh was warm, as warm on her outside as the brandy was warm on her insides. She followed the hand to the arm, to the shoulder, to the neck, to the face, to those lifeless, dull, emotionless green eyes…

Hawke and Anders chose that moment to come back. "This Brekker is making a nuisance of himself. Right, well, so," he gave her a little smile and tried to pretend he hadn't nearly flown into a blind rage, "That explains why you were upset last night. And I suppose I could excuse you for not talking with me right away about this, not after adding in your meeting with Aveline and finding out about Anders and I. So what happened this morning."

She pulled her gaze away from Fenris' to face Hawke. This morning, she repeated to herself, this morning she woke with a hangover—this morning she saw Fenris and Isabela… stumbling… far too deep into each other's personal space…

But Fenris was kneeling beside her, now.

"Um," she eloquently stalled for time while she tried to remember what they had been talking about. "I left the Hanged Man. I meant to come straight here and talk with you about all this, Hawke, honest. But I was preoccupied," she fought the urge to glance at the elf, "I mean still preoccupied, after yesterday, with Aveline, and all that happened. I sort of took a wrong turn. And then Jaxon and his men were there, and the next thing I knew, I was in the sewers meeting with Brekker. He… he knows about you and Anders. He suspected I knew, too, though I denied it. But because you're already in a relationship, he knew he couldn't use me. He decided I wasn't any use to him, and he didn't want you to know what he was up to, so he couldn't let me go in case I came to you. He was going to have me killed, but I… I bluffed him out of it. I told him, if he killed me, it would upset Anders…"

"Quite true," he agreed.

"…and an upset Anders would upset you…"

"No doubt," Hawke muttered.

"…so killing me would only make matters worse."

Hawke chewed through that convoluted, run-on sentence, one hand stroking his neatly trimmed beard. "So Brekker agreed to let you go? Just like that?"

"No, not exactly," she sniffed, feeling the fear tighten in her chest, the tears burn behind her eyes. "First he said he'd be in touch with me, for another job, to pay off my debt to him. Didn't say what the job would be, only that we would discuss it later. Then he said, if I talked, if I told you that he was after you, that I'd regret it. I said, he couldn't hurt Merril or the others, that my friends were your friends, too. But he didn't threaten them… he… he threatened… my cat… Felinus… threatened to… to skin… doorpost…" Her voice finally broke into wrenching sobs that caused her whole body to convulse.

Anders wanted to go to her, but Hawke grabbed his arm and pulled him a few steps away to converse. Instead it was Fenris, one hand on her shoulder, who soberly weathered her storm of tears and fear and heartache.

"This isn't good," Varric muttered quietly. "What could the Coterie want with you, Hawke? Don't get me wrong; I know you've stepped on a lot of toes since your arrival here in Kirkwall, but not enough to piss them off."

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think over the sound of Hrodwynn's sniffling. "I don't even know this Brekker, or why he would be so vindictive against me." He glanced over his shoulder to where Fenris was kneeling beside her. The elf's eyes were watching them, listening to their conversation, even while he tried to comfort the girl. "I wish we could have someone on the inside of his organization, like he tried to do with me."

"No," Anders stated firmly.

Hawke tried to act astonished: open-mouthed, wide-eyed, one hand on his chest as he leaned backwards—it was anything but innocent.

"I know what you're thinking," Anders continued, loud enough to carry to Hrodwynn's ears, "And no, you're not going to put her through that!"

"I didn't say I'd use Hrodwynn," he denied, hoping she would overhear, "But it would be a help, if I had someone who worked for Brekker, someone he already knew and felt he had power over, someone he thought he could use against me, someone who could instead report back to me what he was planning…"

"Over my dead body!"

"It could come to that," Fenris countered Anders' statement. His long, lean body was fluid and graceful as he stood, helping Hrodwynn to her feet. She was no longer crying, and though she breathed a little heavier and looked a little paler, she kept her feet—and her grip on his forearm. "This Brekker has already threatened your life, and if I'm not mistaken, it was his men who tried to rough you over yesterday afternoon. Am I right, Hrodwynn?"

She turned her stare onto him, her thoughts hidden behind eyes that glittered like gemstones, but nodded. "Jaxon, yes, the same one who stabbed me this morning." There seemed to be an accusation somewhere in her statement, but he didn't look too hard for it. "That's how he found out about you two. Jaxon caught you, um…"

"The word you're looking for is snogging," supplied Varric with a completely straight face.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him, "…in the alley yesterday. I recognized Jaxon when he and his men ran out and knocked us to the ground. I knew then that he'd tell Brekker, and that Brekker would know I couldn't do the job for him. That it was impossible."

Fenris helped her lean against a dresser, allowing her to keep her feet and her dignity, but he continued to leave his arm where she could reach it. And she didn't let go.

"Hrodwynn doesn't have a choice," Fenris stated, his harsh words in contrast to his considerate actions. "She's caught in the middle. She either has to spy on Hawke for Brekker, or spy on Brekker for Hawke."

"No, there has to be another option," Anders readily argued.

"Brekker has made too many threats…"

"He knows too much…"

"The Coterie has too far a reach…"

"There's no place to hide…"

"You can't make that decision for her…"

Their voices rose, male and strong and deep, louder and louder, a four-way argument literally over her head. Damn, but she was developing a headache, and feeling sick to her stomach, not to mention the world was nice and tipsy, and her body felt loose and warm. She blamed those last two on the brandy in her empty stomach.

She was aware of their words, even understood what was being said, but she couldn't make herself jump in, not that they would hear the little mouse squeak that was her voice. Halfway in a daze, she stood there, propped up between a piece of furniture and an elf who hated her, and waited until voices and emotions cooled down. She waited too long.

"I still don't like it," Anders crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was dark, a rare occurrence on his normally gentle and understanding features.

"None of us do, I'm sure," Hawke assured him, laying a strong and reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But we really don't have any other choice. If she can convince Brekker that I don't know what's going on, and that she has a way into my mansion—through her relationship with you—then he just may agree to use her in his original plan. And she can keep me… us apprised of what that is. I'll keep her safe, I promise; not a hair on her head."

Anders hesitated, but he gave a nod of assent.

Yup, she'd waited too long. "Don't I get a say?" Hrodwynn asked rhetorically.

"No," four male voices answered in unison.

"But you don't know Brekker," she countered. "You don't understand. He KNOWS things, knows everything. He'll know I'm not really working for him."

"He can't know that unless…"

"He WILL!" she overrode whatever protest Hawke was about to make. She started ticking off items like she would tick off groceries on a list. "He knew you had the deed to your mansion, almost before you got it. He knows you and Anders are lovers. He knows about Merril's late night walks through the city alone. He knows about Leandra. He knows about my cat, for the love of Andraste!"

"Hrodwynn," Hawke's voice grew stern and harsh, "Listen to me. Brekker doesn't have any supernatural powers of clairvoyance." She scoffed softly and rolled her eyes, but he pressed his hand. "Getting the deed to my mother's family's estate was not a private matter; I've been talking about it for years. He could easily have had someone on the inside, in the Viscount's palace, watching and waiting and letting him know ahead of time when the transaction would be approved. As for Anders and I," he tried hard not to blush, "Well, that was lucky happenstance, or rather, unlucky happenstance, that gave him that bit of information. And loads of thugs know about Merril's innocent nocturnal habits; isn't that right, Varric?"

"Yes," he sighed, somewhat painfully. "That reminds me, I'll need to double the bribe to keep her safe at night. That little Daisy is costing me a fortune…"

"As I was saying," Hawke regained control of the conversation, "My family is also fairly public, again thanks to my attempts to regain my estate. I had to use mother's name and status to stake my claim on the mansion."

"But…" she sniffed, wanting to believe that Brekker wasn't somehow using blood magic or some other means to gain this secret knowledge, to read her mind, to pry into her privacy. "…my cat?"

"You talk about him all the time," Varric supplied, "In the Hanged Man. Wouldn't have been hard at all for one of his thugs to have overheard the name, or guess how much your cat means to you."

"Wynnie," Anders took up the argument, "As much as I hate the thought of you playing the part of a spy, of the danger it would put you in, we have to admit you're already in danger. A lot of danger. It's either this, or you'll have to leave Kirkwall."

"I… I could do that…" her voice was barely above a whisper, "…I suppose… leave Kirkwall…"

"Please, don't say that," he took her hands in his, turning her slightly away from Fenris. "Don't even consider it. I… I'd miss you, terribly, if you left. I'd cry for days. And my eyes would get all puffy. And Hawke wouldn't find me attractive anymore. And then I'd be all alone. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?"

Their reactions were varied. Hawke's jaw dropped, Varric rolled his eyes, Fenris looked like he wanted to be sick. However it was Hrodwynn's laughter, weak and breathy, that was entirely unexpected. "You're such a twit," she sighed.

"That means yes," he declared.

"Fine," agreed Hawke quickly, before things got even, er, mushier. "Now all that's left to do, is figure out a way to convince Brekker that Hrodwynn can still be used, that she has access at any time to my mansion, through Anders."

"I can do that," she shrugged, letting go of Anders and leaning back against the dresser, "Because it's the truth, right? I can come visit Anders at any time? Day or night?"

"Er," Hawke hesitated, but one look at Anders took away any indecision, "Right."

"That just leaves Jaxon." Again there was that accusing tone in her voice. "By now he's reported back to Brekker, about Fenris ambushing him and his men. Brekker will think…"

"What?" Hawke asked after she had been quiet for a few moments.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Jaxon will tell him what he suspects, that I already told Hawke everything, but Brekker might not believe him, or at least he might be open to other options. But I'll have to come up with some other reason why Fenris," she added a healthy dose of venom to his name, "Was there. Something Brekker will believe. Something…"

"Embarrassing?" Varric supplied.

"You have something in mind?" Hawke asked, thinking he was going to regret Varric's plan. He was right.

"Oh, I have an idea, something that would explain Fenris' behavior. But no one's gonna like it."

"If it means Wynnie can stay in Kirkwall, she'll do it."

Hawke wanted to shake his head at Varric and signal him not to say it, not to get involved. He also wanted to tell Anders to take his words back, before it was too late. His hesitation—not knowing which to do first—gave Varric the advantage.

"It's perfect," he smiled, already mentally patting himself on his back. "It explains why Button was nervous about trying to seduce Hawke, and why Fenris was following her this morning."

"What?" she asked, curious. Hawke turned to her next; now there were three things he wanted to do…

"You and Fenris are in love."